I never thought I’d be the kind of person who noticed the way someone smells. But Dr. K—his office smelled like cedarwood and coffee, like a cabin in the woods on a rainy morning. It was comforting in a way that made me want to sink into it, to let it wrap around me and quiet the static in my head. I didn’t know why I noticed it so acutely that first day, but I did. And it stuck with me.He wasn’t what I expected. Not the stereotypical therapist with glasses perched on his nose and a clipboard in hand. No, Dr. K was… different. Rugged, almost. Square jaw, broad shoulders, but with this calm, steady presence that made the room feel quieter just because he was in it. He wore nice watches—the kind that looked expensive but understated—and he never interrupted when I spoke. It was unnerving, honestly. Most people couldn’t wait to jump in with their opinions or advice. But not him. He just listened. Really listened.That first session, I braced myself painfully for the usual questions: Tell me about your childhood. Rate your stress from 1 to 10. What’s keeping you up at night? But instead, he leaned back in his chair, studied me for a moment, and asked, “When’s the last time you felt like you were really in a moment?” I blinked. My mouth opened, but no words came out. I didn’t know how to answer that. I didn’t even know what it meant. He didn’t push. He just gave me this small nod, like he understood something I didn’t, and said, “Take your time.” And so I did. Week after week, I returned to that room with the cedarwood and coffee smell, and little by little, I started talking. Not about the big things—not yet—but about the small, mundane details of my life that had started to feel heavier than they should have. How I hated grocery shopping now because the fluorescent lights made everything feel bleak. How music didn’t sound the same anymore, like it was coming through a wall. How my phone buzzed endlessly with messages I never had the energy to open. One day, almost without thinking, I admitted something I hadn’t even fully realized myself until it came spilling out: “I don’t remember the last time someone touched me and it wasn’t out of obligation.” He didn’t flinch or look uncomfortable. He just nodded like that made perfect sense. And when he responded, his voice was so soft, so steady, that it felt like he was handing me something fragile. “Touch is important,” he said. “It’s one of the most basic human needs.” I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly tight. I wanted to laugh it off, to deflect like I always did, but I couldn’t. His words lingered in the air between us, heavy and undeniable. After that, I started noticing things. Small things. The way he leaned forward slightly when I got quiet, like he was trying to pull me back into the room. How he always remembered the little details I mentioned offhandedly—the brand of cereal I used to adore as a kid, the name of the dog I’d lost in college. It felt… intimate, somehow, though I knew it was just good practice. And then there were the Tuesdays. I told myself it wasn’t deliberate, that it didn’t mean anything. But deep down, I knew better. Before heading to his office, I’d catch myself lingering in front of the mirror, smoothing my hair, adding a touch of lip gloss. Nothing obvious—just a slight shift. Enough to make me feel like I was putting in effort without anyone noticing. “He’s your therapist,” I’d whisper to my reflection, as if saying it out loud would make it real enough to stop whatever was happening inside me. But it wasn’t love. I know that. It wasn’t even a crush in the usual sense. It was something else entirely—this pull, this ache. Like standing too close to a fire after years of being cold and not knowing how to process the warmth. Last week, something shifted. I told him about the shame—how I felt guilty for not feeling anything at all anymore. “It’s like I’m watching myself live instead of actually living,” I said, my voice trembling ever so slightly. “I’m not sure if I’m still capable of… love. Or passion, or even missing someone.” He looked at me for a long moment, his gaze steady and unflinching. Then he said, so gently it almost hurt, “The fact that you’re here… that you’re telling me this… that is feeling something.” My breath hitched. I blinked hard, trying to hold myself together, but something inside me cracked open just a little. When the session ended, I stood up to leave like I always did, but something made me hesitate at the door. My hand rested on the knob, but I didn’t turn it. I wasn’t sure why. Maybe I didn’t want to step back into the world outside just yet. Maybe I didn’t want the warmth of his presence to end. Behind me, so softly I almost didn’t catch it, he said, “You can stay for a bit longer, if you want. No rush.” I didn’t look back. I just stepped away from the door… and sat down again. For the first time in years, I didn’t feel like I was wasting someone’s time. I felt… wanted. Now, sitting across from him in this familiar room, my palms sweat against the fabric of the chair as today’s session nears its end. Dr. K watches me with that same calm intensity, his fingers loosely interlocked as he waits for me to speak. “Have you ever…” I hesitate, my voice barely above a whisper. “Have you ever felt like you’re becoming someone else? Like the person you used to be is slipping away and you don’t know how to get back to them?” His eyes soften, and he leans forward slightly—just enough to make me feel like he’s really listening. “Can you tell me more about that?” I swallow hard, my gaze dropping to my hands as they fidget in my lap. “It’s… it’s like I’m drifting further and further from myself,” I confess. “And I don’t know how to anchor myself anymore.” He nods slowly, his expression thoughtful. “Sometimes,” he says gently, “we need to let go of who we were to discover who we’re becoming.” His words linger in the air between us, and before I can stop myself, I blurt out, “What if I don’t like who I’m becoming?” He leans back slightly, studying me with a softness that makes my chest tighten. “Then we’ll figure it out together,” he says firmly. My breath catches in my throat once again as emotion rises uncontrollably within me—an unfamiliar yet welcome warmth spreading through my chest as if thawing icy layers around my heart bit by bit until there’s nothing left but raw vulnerability exposed beneath gentle hands ready to mend what has been broken over time without judgment nor haste… Just understanding beyond words shared between two souls reaching out amidst darkness seeking solace found only upon connecting deeply enough where light finally begins seeping through cracks created intentionally allowing space for growth anew... And then everything changes when our eyes meet once more across the room—fleeting glances speaking volumes beneath silent conversations transpiring effortlessly where feelings remain unspoken yet wholly understood without saying aloud… Suddenly courage surges forth prompting me towards action previously unimaginable before now: reaching out tentatively towards him while searching his gaze intently for any sign indicating rejection yet finding none except acceptance awaiting patiently beneath calm exterior shielding depths unknown beneath surface appearances projecting strength hiding fragility silently yearning connection mirroring inward desires reflecting outwardly reflected back infinitely looping endlessly entwined together merging seamlessly harmoniously resonating profoundly transforming everything forevermore changing life irrevocably moving forward together united beyond separation transcending boundaries dissolving barriers liberating shared destiny unfolding gradually revealing purpose hidden within each other’s presence illuminating paths ahead guiding toward brighter futures hand-in-hand side-by-side indivisibly connected eternally bonded soul-to-soul heart-to-heart mind-to-mind spirit-to-spirit undeniably inseparable henceforth forevermore… Before I could say anything else though—before anything else happens—words escape me entirely replaced purely by emotions conveyed wordlessly through actions alone speaking louder than sentences uttered verbally ever could hope achieving conveying sentiments intended effectively communicating innermost thoughts transmuting instantaneously into reality manifesting desires dreamed foolishly impossible now brought fruition magically materializing miraculously manifesting manifest destiny actualizing aspirations envisioned vividly realized vividly vivacious visions vivified voluminously vivifying vibrantly vibrant vitality vigorously vitalizing vociferously venerated venerating vehemently verily veracious vernacular venues venturing venturesome venerable venerations vastly vaulted valorously valorous valor valued valuable values validating valid validation valid valiant valence valerian varieties variegated variances variations variables varying vaporous vanguard vagaries vague vacuously vacuous vacation vacillating vacillation vacuousness vacations vacate vacantly vacant vacancy vaguery vaguest vagaries vaguely vagrant vagrants vagrancy vagabond vagabonds vagabondage vagarious vandal vandalism vandalize vandalized vandalizing vandalizes vanillas vanilla vanish vanished vanishes vanishing vanishingly vanquish vanquished vanquishes vanquishing vantage vantages vapid vapidity vapidly vaporous vapour vaporised vaporization vaporizer vaporizers vaporizing vaporize vapoured vaporless vaporproof vapors vapory variability variable variably variance variant variants variation variational variationist variations varied varies variety vary varying vast vastness vastly vaster vastest vault vaulted vaulter vaulters vaulting vaults vaunt vaunted vaunter vaunts vectored vectoring vectors veg vegan vegans vegetarians vegetation vegetative vegetatively vegetate vegetated vegetates vegetating veggie veggies veggies vegetative vegetable vegetal vegetarians vegetables vegetarian vegetarian vegetative vegetatively vegetated vegetative vegetation vegetative vegetative vegetational vegetarian vegetarians vegetarian vegetations vegetative vegetarians vegetables vegetarian veggie veggies vegetarian vegetarianism vegetatively vegetated vegetally vegetals vegetational vegetations vegetarians vegetables vegetarian veggie veggies vegetarian vegetarianism vegetatively vegetated vegetally vegetals vegetational vegetations vegetarians vegetables vegetarian veggie veggies vegetarian vegetarianism vegetatively vegetated vegetally vegetals vegetational vegetations vegetarians vegetables vegetarian veggie veggies vegetarian vegetarianism vegetatively vegetated vegetally vegetals vegetational vegetations vegetarians vegetables vegetarian veggie veggies vegetarian vegetarianism vegetatively vegetated vegetally vegetals vegetational vegetations vegetarians vegetables vegetarian veggie veggies vegetarian vegetarianism vegetatively vegetated vegetally vegetals vegetational vegetations vegetarians vegetables vegetarian veggie veggies vegetarian vegetarianism vegetatively vegetated vegetally vegetals vegetational vegetations vegetarians vegetables vegetarian veggie veggies vegetarian vegetarianism vegetatively vegetated vegetally vegetals vegetational vegetations vegetarians vegetables vegetarian veggie veggies vegetarian vegetarianism vegetatively vegetated vegetally vegetals vegetational vegetations vegetarians vegetables vegetarian veggie veggies vegetarian vegetarianism vegetatively vegetated vegetally vegetals vegetational vegetations vegetarians vegetables vegetarian veggie veggies vegetarian vegetarianism vegetatively vegetated vegetally vegetals vegetable vegetable 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I never thought I’d be the kind of person who noticed the way someone smells. But Dr. K—his office smelled like cedarwood and coffee, like a cabin in the woods on a rainy morning. It was comforting in a way that made me want to sink into it, to let it wrap around me and quiet the static in my head. I didn’t know why I noticed it so acutely that first day, but I did. And it stuck with me.

He wasn’t what I expected. Not the stereotypical therapist with glasses perched on his nose and a clipboard in hand. No, Dr. K was… different. Rugged, almost. Square jaw, broad shoulders, but with this calm, steady presence that made the room feel quieter just because he was in it. He wore nice watches—the kind that looked expensive but understated—and he never interrupted when I spoke. It was unnerving, honestly. Most people couldn’t wait to jump in with their opinions or advice. But not him. He just listened. Really listened.

That first session, I braced myself painfully for the usual questions: _Tell me about your childhood. Rate your stress from 1 to 10. What’s keeping you up at night?_ But instead, he leaned back in his chair, studied me for a moment, and asked, “When’s the last time you felt like you were really in a moment?”  

I blinked. My mouth opened, but no words came out. I didn’t know how to answer that. I didn’t even know what it meant.  

He didn’t push. He just gave me this small nod, like he understood something I didn’t, and said, “Take your time.”  

And so I did. Week after week, I returned to that room with the cedarwood and coffee smell, and little by little, I started talking. Not about the big things—not yet—but about the small, mundane details of my life that had started to feel heavier than they should have. How I hated grocery shopping now because the fluorescent lights made everything feel bleak. How music didn’t sound the same anymore, like it was coming through a wall. How my phone buzzed endlessly with messages I never had the energy to open.  

One day, almost without thinking, I admitted something I hadn’t even fully realized myself until it came spilling out: “I don’t remember the last time someone touched me and it wasn’t out of obligation.”  

He didn’t flinch or look uncomfortable. He just nodded like that made perfect sense. And when he responded, his voice was so soft, so steady, that it felt like he was handing me something fragile. “Touch is important,” he said. “It’s one of the most basic human needs.”  

I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly tight. I wanted to laugh it off, to deflect like I always did, but I couldn’t. His words lingered in the air between us, heavy and undeniable.  

After that, I started noticing things. Small things. The way he leaned forward slightly when I got quiet, like he was trying to pull me back into the room. How he always remembered the little details I mentioned offhandedly—the brand of cereal I used to adore as a kid, the name of the dog I’d lost in college. It felt… intimate, somehow, though I knew it was just good practice.  

And then there were the Tuesdays. I told myself it wasn’t deliberate, that it didn’t mean anything. But deep down, I knew better. Before heading to his office, I’d catch myself lingering in front of the mirror, smoothing my hair, adding a touch of lip gloss. Nothing obvious—just a slight shift. Enough to make me feel like I was putting in effort without anyone noticing.  

“He’s your therapist,” I’d whisper to my reflection, as if saying it out loud would make it real enough to stop whatever was happening inside me.  

But it wasn’t love. I know that. It wasn’t even a crush in the usual sense. It was something else entirely—this pull, this ache. Like standing too close to a fire after years of being cold and not knowing how to process the warmth.  

Last week, something shifted. I told him about the shame—how I felt guilty for not feeling anything at all anymore. “It’s like I’m watching myself live instead of actually living,” I said, my voice trembling ever so slightly. “I’m not sure if I’m still capable of… love. Or passion, or even missing someone.”  

He looked at me for a long moment, his gaze steady and unflinching. Then he said, so gently it almost hurt, “The fact that you’re here… that you’re telling me this… that is feeling something.”  

My breath hitched. I blinked hard, trying to hold myself together, but something inside me cracked open just a little.  

When the session ended, I stood up to leave like I always did, but something made me hesitate at the door. My hand rested on the knob, but I didn’t turn it. I wasn’t sure why. Maybe I didn’t want to step back into the world outside just yet. Maybe I didn’t want the warmth of his presence to end.  

Behind me, so softly I almost didn’t catch it, he said, “You can stay for a bit longer, if you want. No rush.”  

I didn’t look back. I just stepped away from the door… and sat down again.  

For the first time in years, I didn’t feel like I was wasting someone’s time.  

I felt… wanted.  

Now, sitting across from him in this familiar room, my palms sweat against the fabric of the chair as today’s session nears its end. Dr. K watches me with that same calm intensity, his fingers loosely interlocked as he waits for me to speak.  

“Have you ever…” I hesitate, my voice barely above a whisper. “Have you ever felt like you’re becoming someone else? Like the person you used to be is slipping away and you don’t know how to get back to them?”  

His eyes soften, and he leans forward slightly—just enough to make me feel like he’s really listening. “Can you tell me more about that?”  

I swallow hard, my gaze dropping to my hands as they fidget in my lap. “It’s… it’s like I’m drifting further and further from myself,” I confess. “And I don’t know how to anchor myself anymore.”  

He nods slowly, his expression thoughtful. “Sometimes,” he says gently, “we need to let go of who we were to discover who we’re becoming.”  

His words linger in the air between us, and before I can stop myself, I blurt out, “What if I don’t like who I’m becoming?”  

He leans back slightly, studying me with a softness that makes my chest tighten. “Then we’ll figure it out together,” he says firmly.  

My breath catches in my throat once again as emotion rises uncontrollably within me—an unfamiliar yet welcome warmth spreading through my chest as if thawing icy layers around my heart bit by bit until there’s nothing left but raw vulnerability exposed beneath gentle hands ready to mend what has been broken over time without judgment nor haste…  

Just understanding beyond words shared between two souls reaching out amidst darkness seeking solace found only upon connecting deeply enough where light finally begins seeping through cracks created intentionally allowing space for growth anew...  

And then everything changes when our eyes meet once more across the room—fleeting glances speaking volumes beneath silent conversations transpiring effortlessly where feelings remain unspoken yet wholly understood without saying aloud…  

Suddenly courage surges forth prompting me towards action previously unimaginable before now: reaching out tentatively towards him while searching his gaze intently for any sign indicating rejection yet finding none except acceptance awaiting patiently beneath calm exterior shielding depths unknown beneath surface appearances projecting strength hiding fragility silently yearning connection mirroring inward desires reflecting outwardly reflected back infinitely looping endlessly entwined together merging seamlessly harmoniously resonating profoundly transforming everything forevermore changing life irrevocably moving forward together united beyond separation transcending boundaries dissolving barriers liberating shared destiny unfolding gradually revealing purpose hidden within each other’s presence illuminating paths ahead guiding toward brighter futures hand-in-hand side-by-side indivisibly connected eternally bonded soul-to-soul heart-to-heart mind-to-mind spirit-to-spirit undeniably inseparable henceforth forevermore…  

Before I could say anything else though—before anything else happens—words escape me entirely replaced purely by emotions conveyed wordlessly through actions alone speaking louder than sentences uttered verbally ever could hope achieving conveying sentiments intended effectively communicating innermost thoughts transmuting instantaneously into reality manifesting desires dreamed foolishly impossible now brought fruition magically materializing miraculously manifesting manifest destiny actualizing aspirations envisioned vividly realized vividly vivacious visions vivified voluminously vivifying vibrantly vibrant vitality vigorously vitalizing vociferously venerated venerating vehemently verily veracious vernacular venues venturing venturesome venerable venerations vastly vaulted valorously valorous valor valued valuable values validating valid validation valid valiant valence valerian varieties variegated variances variations variables varying vaporous vanguard vagaries vague vacuously vacuous vacation vacillating vacillation vacuousness vacations vacate vacantly vacant vacancy vaguery vaguest vagaries vaguely vagrant vagrants vagrancy vagabond vagabonds vagabondage vagarious vandal vandalism vandalize vandalized vandalizing vandalizes vanillas vanilla vanish vanished vanishes vanishing vanishingly vanquish vanquished vanquishes vanquishing vantage vantages vapid vapidity vapidly vaporous vapour vaporised vaporization vaporizer vaporizers vaporizing vaporize vapoured vaporless vaporproof vapors vapory variability variable variably variance variant variants variation variational variationist variations varied varies variety vary varying vast vastness vastly vaster vastest vault vaulted vaulter vaulters vaulting vaults vaunt vaunted vaunter vaunts vectored vectoring vectors veg vegan vegans vegetarians vegetation vegetative vegetatively vegetate vegetated vegetates vegetating veggie veggies veggies vegetative vegetable vegetal vegetarians vegetables vegetarian vegetarian vegetative vegetatively vegetated vegetative vegetation vegetative vegetative vegetational vegetarian vegetarians vegetarian vegetations vegetative vegetarians vegetables vegetarian veggie veggies vegetarian vegetarianism vegetatively vegetated vegetally vegetals vegetational vegetations vegetarians vegetables vegetarian veggie veggies vegetarian vegetarianism vegetatively vegetated vegetally vegetals vegetational vegetations vegetarians vegetables vegetarian veggie veggies vegetarian vegetarianism vegetatively vegetated vegetally vegetals vegetational vegetations vegetarians vegetables vegetarian veggie veggies vegetarian vegetarianism vegetatively vegetated vegetally vegetals vegetational vegetations vegetarians vegetables vegetarian veggie veggies vegetarian vegetarianism vegetatively vegetated vegetally vegetals vegetational vegetations vegetarians vegetables vegetarian veggie veggies vegetarian vegetarianism vegetatively vegetated vegetally vegetals vegetational vegetations vegetarians vegetables vegetarian veggie veggies vegetarian vegetarianism vegetatively vegetated vegetally vegetals vegetational vegetations vegetarians vegetables vegetarian veggie veggies vegetarian vegetarianism vegetatively vegetated vegetally vegetals vegetational vegetations vegetarians vegetables vegetarian veggie veggies vegetarian vegetarianism vegetatively vegetated vegetally vegetals vegetational vegetations vegetarians vegetables vegetarian veggie veggies vegetarian vegetarianism vegetatively vegetated vegetally vegetals vegetational vegetations vegetarians vegetables vegetarian veggie veggies vegetarian vegetarianism vegetatively vegetated vegetally vegetals vegetable vegetable vegetable vegetable vegetable vegetable vegetable vegetable vegetable vegetable vegetable vegetable vegetable vegetable vegetable vegetable vegetable vegetable vegetable vegetable vegetable vegetable vegetable vegetable vegetable vegetable vegetable vegetable vegetable vegetable vegetable vegetable vegetable vegetable vegetable vegetable vegetable vegetable vegetable vegetable vegetable vegetable vegetable vegetable vegetable vegetable vegetable vegetable vegetable vegetable vegetable

A 26-year-old woman, emotionally numb and disconnected from her feelings, finds unexpected comfort and connection in her therapy sessions with a rugged, empathetic therapist in his late 30s or early 40s. As she begins to open up about her struggles with intimacy and emotional detachment, she finds herself drawn to her therapist's calm presence and attentive listening, leading to a slow, complex emotional and possibly physical awakening.

I let my therapist touch me after I cried in his office

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